Barfights
by Miss Mairin
Summary: Two separate bar fights, two young men, one hospital. Matthew and Gilbert meet in the local hospital, and exchange stories while they wait to be treated for their somewhat minor injuries.


Gilbert stumbled into the Accident &amp; Emergency area of the closest hospital, groaning as he held his head in his right hand. He looked up for a moment, noting that it was Talia Local Hospital, which had the reputation of dealing with the most partying and bar related injuries. Which, unsurprisingly, was why he was there as well.

Somehow making it to the front desk without further injury, he leaned against the curved desk for support and groaned again. The sound alerted the receptionist, and she turned to face the newest arrival with a smile, albeit a slightly exasperated one.. Her nametag read 'Emma,' and he momentarily he felt guilty for her from bothering her. She had obviously gotten the short end of the stick: the Friday night shift. Her voice brought Gilbert out from his somewhat scattered thoughts which was currently producing a headache.

"Hi," she greeted politely and handed him a clipboard. "Can I have you fill this out?"

He took the clipboard from her hand and nodded, and limped his way to the waiting room. Though he definitely was in pain, it was kind of understandable. Most accidents were assessed and seen based on the need, and Gilbert wasn't exactly dying. He plopped down in an uncomfortable chair and furiously scribbled out the basic answers to the question. Name, Date of birth, Description of visit, Date &amp; time of visit, etc.

As soon as he declared himself done, he stood up and went to hand it to Emma. She looked it over quickly, and gave Gilbert a once-over as well. Nodding, more to herself than anything, she pointed to a door on the side of the waiting room, presumably to a separate area.

"It's the hospital's area for minor injuries, such as yours," Emma explained sweetly. She paused for a second, and as Gilbert began to walk/limp towards the door, called out helpfully, "It's Friday night. You're in for a long wait."

"Great," he replied, and hit his head on the door in annoyance. Really, it was only a few bruises and maybe a few cuts that were bleeding, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. However, his best friends Antonio and Francis told him to go to the hospital, if only to get his head checked out, and a few cuts stitched up. Of course, being crappy friends, they stayed at the bar while he would be stuck in the hospital alone. Sighing, Gilbert turned the knob to the minor injury area, and entered with a scowl on his face.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was entirely too bright. If he was honest with himself, he only noticed because he was still slightly tipsy. Bright light and alcohol don't mix particularly well. The second thing he noticed was that it was a well sized room, about the size of a normal conference room, with chairs scattered around the perimeter. The third thing he noticed was that despite it being Friday night, there were only two other people sitting in the waiting room.

But then again, waiting in hospitals didn't necessarily come from the amount of patients. Gilbert knew that first hand. There was absolutely no schedule, and someone could be waiting hours after their appointed time. Who knew how time even worked in a hospital? Not him, that's for sure.

Assuming that Emma did not tell the person in charge of minor injuries, he went to the window that was clearly labeled 'Sign In.' Which is what he did.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, 1:01 am

He glanced at the list, there seemed to have been ten patients with their names scratched out in the past three hours, indicating they had been taken care of already. The two names before his were not, and he casually looked at their names. The most recent name was Matthew Williams and the other was Jack Logan. Both of which, as Gilbert looked around, seemed entirely docile. One of them was sound asleep, their neck in a position that would definitely be sore when he woke up, and the other was casually flipping through a magazine.

Deciding that if the receptionist was telling the truth that it would be a long wait, he sat two chairs down from the young man with the magazine. Who knows, if Gilbert got too bored maybe he could pass the time talking to him.

(Gilbert always got bored.)

He flipped through a sports magazine, wincing as he tried to read the small font. Huffing, he threw it down on the table and reached for a magazine with plenty pictures. After what seemed like an hour, he groaned and put the magazine down again and glanced at the clock on the wall.

1:13 am.

Definitely not an hour.

Gilbert groaned again - he seemed to be doing a lot of that - and leaned back, his head on the cool wall. Maybe if he closed his eyes, time would go faster. It seemed to be working for the guy with drool coming out of his mouth; he seemed perfectly content. When he opened his eyes again, only three minutes had passed. He looked over at the guy next to him. Blond, skinny, and if he stood, he would probably be an average height. Really, nothing spectacular, except that he was quite cute. Leaning over, Gilbert glanced at the young man's injuries and decided to start a conversation.

"Hey," he called out. When the other man turned his head in recognition, he continued. "What happened to ya? Did you fall or something?"

The man in question smiled softly, his eyes twinkling. He shook his head, still smiling, and in complete seriousness, replied, "I was at a bar, and I beat the daylights out of someone."

Gilbert blinked. He blinked again, his mouth moving, but no sound came out. The guy next to him really didn't seem like the violent type. He adorned a pair of fragile looking glasses, and his smile was sweet. If anything, he was cute and he was the type of person Gilbert would have wanted to protect.

"You don't seem like that kind of person," Gilbert commented carefully. Just in case his new friend was, indeed, a violent person. Or a serial killer. Something like that. The young man rolled his eyes in response.

"You don't seem like the kind of person to be nice and considerate, either, but I saw you give that kid leaving the emergency room a lollipop," he pointed out cheekily.

"Fair enough," Gilbert chuckled, and continued the conversation, "What was the fight about?"

"Oh, the guy asked the bartender to change the channel from a really intense hockey game to some other shitty sport," he explained, smiling fondly. He continued his story, "I told the bartender not to, and the guy was like," he smiled smugly and raised his voice to an entirely fake falsetto, "'Why not? Hockey sucks!' and I beat him up."

"Huh. That's… uh," Gilbert struggled with a word that wouldn't be offensive, "...Interesting." He paused again, seeing if the other man wanted to comment, but when he didn't, Gilbert explained his story of the injuries. "I'm here cause I was being a little bit too rambunctious and flirted with some girl that had a boyfriend. He didn't take it well. My bros had my back, though, so it was all good. They told me to come make sure I didn't lose any more brain cells."

The blond giggled, and when he snorted, Gilbert fought back an urge to hug him. Really, the other guy was entirely too adorable for his own good, especially if he was blushing after a dorky giggle-snort. He finally composed himself, and continued the conversation with Gilbert.

"Wish I could say the same. My brother Alfred didn't bother getting in the fight," he smiled smugly again, with maybe a tad bit of arrogance. "He knows how I am when it comes to hockey."

The pair was quiet again, and Gilbert nearly screamed in fright when a nurse opened the door and appeared out of nowhere. She went to check the list, and called out the name Jack Logan. When no one got up, she rolled her eyes and sauntered over to the sleeping man and pushed him off the chair.

Of course, that woke him up.

"Come on, let's go get you fixed up," the nurse said, extending a hand for Jack. He took it, still slightly disoriented from the sudden wake up call. The two went through the door and Gilbert was left alone with the guy sitting next to him.

"So, are you Matthew?" Gilbert asked, piecing the clues together. He chuckled when Matthew looked at him in confusion and maybe a little bit of wow-that's-creepy. "There were two names on the list. Jack and Matthew. Jack just left, so you're Matthew."

"Not bad," Matthew praised, smirking, "I'm surprised you could do that, considering you're drunk."

"How could you tell?" he asked teasing. Even if Gilbert's actions and sentences weren't meddled and slurred, it was still kind of obvious he was at least tipsy. He knew his breath smelled like alcohol, it's Friday night, and he had been in a bar fight. There weren't many other options explaining it.

"Just a feeling," Matthew responded, rolling his eyes playfully.

The two were quiet again, but this time the silence was a tad awkward. Just to be doing something, Gilbert looked at the clock and deciphered how much time he had spent waiting. It was 1:46 am, so 45 minutes of waiting, and about a half hour of talking to Matthew. Time went faster talking to him, so once again, he tried to start a conversation.

"Let's play twenty questions," he blurted.

Very smooth.

"What?" Matthew asked, laughing. "I feel like I'm back in high school, with that question."

"But I'm bored," Gilbert whined, dragging the vowels of 'bored' out. He made his best puppy eyes, and gestured to the empty waiting room around them. When Matthew cracked a smile and nodded, he knew he had won. Grinning in victory, he sat up in his seat and stretched, thinking of his first question. "Okay. Um. I don't know, what's your favorite color?"

"Hmm. Probably red," he answered, "Yours?"

"I like blue," Gilbert acknowledged, smirking. "What's your favorite food?"

"These are like, first grade questions," Matthew huffed, crossing his arms, wincing at a hurtful bruise. When he glanced at the other man pouting, he sighed and relented. "Fine. My favorite food is pancakes. Yours?"

"Maaattheww," he whined again, pouting. "You can't just repeat the same question! I like wurst and potatoes."

Before Gilbert could ask his next question, he was interrupted by giggling. He looked at Matthew, raising his eyebrows to show curiosity.

"We sure live up to our stereotypes, huh?" Matthew chuckled. When Gilbert looked confused, he explained, "I'm Canadian and love pancakes. You're German and love wurst and potatoes."

"Excuse you," Gilbert retorted, "I'm Prussian. But yeah, I see what you mean. Huh, that's kinda cool. It's my turn, right? So, uh, what is so good about pancakes? I've never had them before."

"What?!" he exclaimed with disbelief, his eyes wide. "They're amazing in general, but the best thing about pancakes is…" he paused, and leaned forward conspiratorially, "The maple syrup."

Gilbert gasped dramatically, causing both of them to dissolve into slightly-drunken giggles. When they looked up from their fit of giggles, their faces were close, too close, and they were both bright red. Matthew was the first one to recover, and jerked backwards. He chuckled nervously, and went back to the topic on hand. "So you've really never had pancakes?"

"Nope," he shook his head. He willed his blush to go away.

"Well!" Matthew announced a sparkle in his eyes, "We'll have to change that, now won't we?"

The two fell into a semi-comfortable silence, each of them looking around the waiting room. There was nothing interesting to look at. Suddenly, it was two am, and Gilbert realized he needed to go to the bathroom. He hadn't gone for hours, and he had drank a lot of beer during that time period.

"Hey," Gilbert called, standing up, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Be right back."

Matthew looked up, and nodded in response. The other man walked away, and Matthew's eyes followed. Maybe a little too closely. Bored, he glanced at a magazine again, before realizing it had been well over an hour since he had signed in. It was definitely time to be checked out, considering all the blood had dried and there really wasn't a reason to stay.

Oh, but there was a reason.

He blinked, realizing it was probably soon that he would be called back. Neither of them knew each other, nor their contact information. What both of them knew, however, was that the irritable nurse from earlier wouldn't wait for them to exchange said information. And, suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

Matthew flipped through the magazine, finding a relative clean page, and ripped it out of the book. He walked to the sign in area and used the pen to write on the paper. Sitting back down in his spot, he stretched and yawned, unaware that he was being watched.

By Gilbert, but still kinda creepy.

Gilbert made his presence known, and smirked when Matthew jumped slightly. He sauntered back over to his friend, and plopped down in the seat next to him. It hurt, but he fought the urge to wince. "Where were we?"

"Twenty questions," Matthew supplied, "We were talking about pancakes."

"Oh yeah, that's right," he recalled, quickly coming up with a question, "How long have you been here?"

"A few minutes more than you," Matthew explained, pausing. He glanced at the clock, calculating, "So over an hour. Just like you. Really, they should hurry up, I'm tired."

"The receptionist, Emma, warned me it would be a long wait," Gilbert chuckled. Hospitals were so slow, there were only three people but it's taken an hour. One would think there would be more people staffed, but obviously not. Only people like Emma who got the short end of the stick worked on Friday nights apparently.

"Apparently we jinxed it," Matthew commented a few moments later. He nudged Gilbert in the elbow, gesturing to the nurse looking at the sign in sheet. Just as he pointed it out, she called his name.

"Matthew Williams?"

"That's me," he called out in acknowledgement. He stood and looked down at Gilbert with a smile. Walking away, he hoped his new friend would see his note.

Before Gilbert could even say anything, like, stop or wait, or _something, _he was gone. They didn't even get each other's numbers, and he was pretty sure he never told Matthew his name. He only knew that the other man was Matthew Williams, he didn't know age or location or anything. There were probably a million Matthew Williams in the world!

Well, not a million.

Gilbert leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs and arms. He let his arms fall to his side, pouting. Really, he should have been smarter. He should have asked for some kind of contact information, Matthew was incredibly cute, surprisingly sassy, and great to talk with. Turning to reach for the magazine Matthew was reading, he noticed a note on the chair that was recently vacated.

Curious, and maybe a little hopefully, he grabbed the note and opened it. His eyes scanned it quickly, taking in the information. And he laughed. Gilbert laughed, and laughed. Of course Matthew would do this. Of course Matthew wouldn't write a normal 'call me' note.

A different nurse appeared out of nowhere, yet again, and called his name. He smiled and stood up, ready to be fixed up and go home. He had better things to do than sit in a hospital and wait for injury treatment he wasn't even sure he needed. Crumpling the note in his hand, he carefully stuffed it in his pocket for later.

* * *

_Weird guy who sat next to me,_

_I never even asked your name, oops. Meet me next Friday at 10pm Province Bar on 82nd Street. I'll bring pancakes and maple syrup, we will drink together, and then I will decide if you are worthy of my phone number._

_Matthew_


End file.
